


The Right Moment is Now

by Allemande



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Julian Bashir admits to himself that he’s in love with Elim Garak. Garak, however, seems oblivious to all his hints, and the universe insists on throwing obstacle after obstacle into their path...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Our Man Bashir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cyranothe2nd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/gifts).



> Written as part of the Garak/Bashir Valentine Gift Exchange at [doctor_tailor](http://http://doctor-tailor.livejournal.com/). For [cyranothe2nd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/) who likes stories where Julian realizes he's in love before Garak does.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [okami-myrrhibis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VAwitch)!

**_\---_ **

**_Part One_ **

**_\---_ **

 

**_Our Man Bashir_ **

 

 _“Interesting. You saved the day by destroying the world.”_  
  
 _“I bet they didn't teach you that in the Obsidian Order.”_  
  
 _“No. No, there was a great deal they didn't teach me. Like the value of a good game of chance. Or how indulging… in fantasy… can keep one's mind creative.”_  
  
That pause, thought Julian as he entered his holodeck apartment in Hong Kong, replaying last night’s conversation in his mind. That had been very interesting. What had Garak meant to say or said between the lines? Was there some double entendre there? Or was it – again – just wishful thinking?  
  
And why, _why_ was he obsessing over Garak once more, instead of considering the terrible and selfish act his Cardassian friend had almost committed, calling for the holodeck exit and nearly (possibly) killing their crewmates?  
  
Oh well, he thought wryly as he started setting the table, it was just another thing to add to his list of reasons to loathe himself.  
  
“Ah, Doctor,” Garak said as he entered his apartment (Julian was sure he’d locked it, but then nothing surprised him anymore). “I see it’s just the two of us. But then your charming assistant, er –”  
  
“Mona Luvsitt,” Julian said, with a grin.  
  
“Ah yes, Mona Luvsitt.” Garak either didn’t understand the double entendre, or chose not to. “She was killed in the story last night, wasn’t she?”  
  
“Yes, but I’m not running a story right now, just the setting. She’s getting our lunch from a market stall. Best dumplings in all of Hong Kong, they say.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it.”  
  
Mona arrived with the dumplings, and after throwing them both professionally flirtatious looks, departed again. For a moment, they were quiet, sampling all the different dumplings she’d bought. Then Garak said, “You know, I never worked with anyone as attractive as her during my time in the Obsidian Order. Everyone was disappointingly plain. And of course, most of them were men. Cardassian society is very clear on which gender should ideally exercise which profession.”  
  
 _Where did that speech come from?_ It wasn’t as though Garak didn’t enjoy a good monologue, but he usually seemed to have a reason for them. And he had certainly never talked about finding anyone attractive before.  
  
“Yeah,” Julian replied, hardly missing a beat, “I remember that Cardassian scientist, Gilora, telling Chief O’Brien how unusual it was for a man to be good at engineering.”  
  
“Yes,” Garak nodded. “Science is very much a female domain on Cardassia. Politics and spying, however, a predominantly male one.” He looked wistful there for a moment, and Julian briefly wondered how hard it must be for someone from that culture to have to live on a space station under Federation control, with all its multicoloured members and its multigender approach.  
  
“I’ve got to say though,” Julian ventured, “if it’s up to me, I’d rather have a Cardassian ex-spy as my sidekick than all the Mona Luvsitts of the world.”  
  
“Your ‘sidekick’? Come on, Doctor, I’m sure I can be more than that.”  
  
Julian’s heart was racing.  
  
“Surely I can be your equal – at the very _least_ – where spying is concerned,” Garak added, clearly oblivious to the confusion he had just caused, and Julian’s heart sank.  
  
“You surprised me yesterday,” Garak continued, smiling. “You might have killed me if you hadn’t been such a lousy shot.”  
  
Julian let his raised eyebrow speak volumes about what he thought of that provocation. At heart, though, he felt relieved. Garak thought that he had really missed out of incompetence: so everything was still in order. ‘What makes you think I wasn’t trying?,’ he had quipped on the spot, and Garak had seemed to believe him.  
  
“Sacrifices have to be made, you said so yourself,” he shrugged. “And in that moment, my duty was to Kira and Dax.”  
  
“And not to me,” Garak smiled. “Quite right.”  
  
Damn. Why did every confrontation end in this way – with Garak obviously believing that he was just some interesting mystery for Julian to occupy himself with, and nothing more?  
  
 _Because you’re not even ready to admit to yourself that he is more, said a voice in his head. And you’d better forget all about that now if you want to maintain some level of self-respect._  
  
They spent the rest of their lunch animatedly discussing the remarkable similarities between the Chinese philosopher Confucius and the Cardassian poet Iloja of Prim.


	2. Part I: ...Nor The Battle to the Strong

_**… Nor the Battle to the Strong**_  
  
Garak, walking past the Replimat after work, was surprised to see Doctor Bashir there. He knew the doctor had come back from his medical conference, and the subsequent detour via Ajilon Prime, the night before; but Garak had assumed he would be in bed. Instead, the doctor was sitting alone, staring pensively into what appeared to be a large cup of tea.  
  
Bashir looked up as he saw Garak and, smiling, asked him to sit down. His body language struck Garak as not entirely welcoming, but then, even after all this time, he still found Humans difficult to read. However, he had learned that in these situations it was best to follow the spoken word (so very unlike Cardassians!), so he got himself a cup of tea and sat down.  
  
“So the Klingons have reentered the battlefield,” he said.  
  
Bashir nodded darkly. “I’ll spare you the precise description of all the injuries I saw on Ajilon Prime.”  
  
“That’s unlike you,” Garak said, trying to lighten the mood, and Bashir rewarded him with the ghost of a smile.  
  
They filled each other in, then, on what had happened during the week they hadn’t seen each other. Bashir recounted his conference and his trip to Ajilon with Jake Sisko; Garak told him about all the latest station gossip (the things you overheard when you were a tailor…).  
  
“And then of course, there’s the affair between Ensigns Collins and Yusuki,” he ended, his tone deliberately casual.  
  
Bashir’s eyebrows went up at that. “James and Fred? I didn’t see _that_ one coming.” He smiled. “Is it confirmed?”  
  
“Oh, yes. Miros Naala saw them together, and as I’m sure you can confirm as a doctor, her eyesight… ”  
  
“… is exceptional,” Bashir nodded, grinning. “That woman knows more about on-station relationships than anyone.”  
  
“Certainly more than me,” Garak shrugged. “I confess I still find myself mystified as to Human preferences, for one thing. Didn’t James Collins use to go out with women?”  
  
This remark seemed to make Bashir uncomfortable, and Garak cursed himself for evidently having overstepped some boundary of etiquette. Interracial relations were so complicated.  
  
“Yeah, but lots of people swing both ways,” Bashir shrugged.  
  
“Ah.” Garak nodded. “That concept is rather unfamiliar to Cardassians.”  
  
“I see.” Bashir busied himself with his tea again.  
  
Garak was damned if he understood what went on in this extremely illogical Human’s mind sometimes. But that, of course, was what made being his friend so enjoyable.  
  
“By the way,” he said, deciding to stay in this uncomfortable area for a moment, “I’ve talked to many people who are sorry to see Jadzia Dax disappear from the dating market.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Bashir said, looking up. “Jadzia and Worf. I’d completely forgotten about that.”  
  
He looked genuinely surprised about forgetting. Garak didn’t think it so unusual; after all, it had happened right before Bashir had left, and he must have had a lot on his mind since then. But maybe there was another reason Bashir thought he should have remembered?  
  
“Perhaps you were less affected by it than you thought you would be,” Garak teased.  
  
Bashir looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t try to play psychologist, Garak. It doesn’t suit you.” He frowned, and after a little moment, added, “Sorry. That was a little harsh.”  
  
“It’s quite all right, doctor,” Garak smiled. “I apologize if I have offended you.”  
  
“No, it’s fine.” Bashir leaned back. “I guess you’re right. I thought I would mind, because I did like Jadzia once. But I stopped thinking about her in that way a while ago. I mean, _clearly_ , I’m not her type, and there’s no sense in dwelling on an infatuation that will never go anywhere.”  
  
“Quite,” Garak agreed.  
  
Bashir still seemed sad, which confused Garak. Had the doctor become better at lying lately? Was he actually still pining after Lieutenant Dax?  
  
Garak, for one, wouldn’t have minded if his doctor friend had managed to win the Trill’s heart, instead of losing her to that grim Klingon. Jadzia was always friendly to him, and of course very intelligent and beautiful – a damn sight better than some of the women Bashir had gone out with.  
  
However, he didn’t worry about his friend too much. Even if he did regret Jadzia, he would find another woman to adore and to be adored by soon enough. He was sure that if the doctor could only learn to be a little less superficial, one day he would marry one of them.  
  
That thought brought him considerable discomfort. Who would alleviate the boredom and pain of his exile then?


	3. Part I: Doctor Bashir, I Presume?

_**Doctor Bashir, I Presume?**_  
  
For the past two weeks, Julian Bashir had spent most of his time in the infirmary. He didn’t really feel like seeing people at the moment, and being the station doctor confronted him with enough encounters (and, inevitably, stares) as it was. Miles O’Brien had tried to invite him to dinner or a game of darts several times, but he hadn’t felt like it.  
  
He had been so self-absorbed that he only realized now that cancelling his lunch date with Garak every day for two weeks was perhaps not the kindest thing to have done. After all, the man had just lost his father _and_ seen his homeworld newly allied with the Dominion.  
  
On his way back to his quarters that night, he stopped by his friend’s shop, which was still open. Garak smiled as he saw him walk in, and after they had exchanged a few polite words, Julian said:  
  
“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been… a little out of sorts.”  
  
“No wonder,” Garak said, and Julian noticed that the Cardassian was studying him with newfound interest and affection. He smiled to himself. He should have realized that if anyone was going to be pleased by the news that he’d been lying to everyone about his genetic background for nearly six years, it would be Garak.  
  
 _And that’s exactly the reason why Garak is so perfect for you._  
  
He frowned briefly as that thought crossed his mind. It had been a while since he’d actively (and unsuccessfully) tried to turn their relationship into something more. Garak had seemed to misunderstand every single one of his advances, which was perhaps no wonder as Cardassian culture did not seem to allow for ambiguity in a male-male friendship.  
  
He hadn’t dared to be more aggressive, though – after all, his friend valued subtlety almost above all else, and he was sure he wasn’t going to do himself any favours with the kind of approach he’d gone for all his life.  
  
“You know, something occurred to me the other day,” Garak said, looking at him in that new, grudgingly respectful manner. “Do you remember that time on the holodeck when you nearly shot me?”  
  
Julian sat down on the bench inside one of the changing rooms. “Of course I do.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Garak nodded. “Well, you suggested to me at the time that you had in fact been trying to kill me, and I teased you about being a lousy shot.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Julian looked down at his feet, his heart beating fast.  
  
“So you were actually _aiming_ for the side of my neck,” Garak said. His tone was one of quiet admiration, and Julian couldn’t pretend to himself that this didn’t please him.  
  
“Well, I wasn’t going to kill you if I could avoid it.” He gave Garak what would have been understood, by a Human, to be a very meaningful look.  
  
“A pity,” Garak said, leaning against his working table, and he actually sounded disappointed. “So you do turn out to be the morally righteous man you always appeared to be. Although…” His face suddenly lit up in delight. “What about the Dominion internment camp? Now there’s a tight spot you could have gotten us out of sooner. And I’m sure I can think of more.”  
  
Bashir swallowed. This, he realized now, was one of the reasons he had avoided seeing Garak as well as everyone else. “I’m sorry, Garak. I might have spared you that claustrophobic experience, although I still think I wouldn’t have been able get us out it as quickly as you did. It’s just… I was so used to hiding what I am, it didn’t even occur to me.”  
  
Garak waved his answer aside. “Please, you misunderstand me. I am extremely delighted to realize how many times you must have risked other people’s lives just to maintain your fiction.”  
  
“Wow, you really are one to turn to for uplifting comments,” Julian said sarcastically.  
  
“My pleasure,” said Garak, and Julian had the distinct impression the sarcasm hadn’t registered. “By the way, please don’t talk about yourself in those terms. ‘What I am’? The Federation may have indoctrinated you to believe that you are somehow morally repulsive, but try to remember that that’s just _one_ point of view.”  
  
Julian smiled. “Thanks, Garak. That actually _did_ help.”  
  
As they walked down the Promenade towards their respective quarters, Julian felt better than he had in a long time.


	4. Part I: A Time to Stand

**_A Time to Stand_**  
  
So here they were, 17 years, 2 months and three days from Deep Space Nine, in the midst of enemy territory, with no warp drive, and Elim Garak was trying not to panic.  
  
He should have known what he was getting himself into when he’d joined Captain Sisko’s crew on the Defiant during the Dominion attack. It had been an informed choice, of course; it wasn’t as though he could have stayed on Deep Space Nine or gone to Bajor. The Bajorans might have protected him, but he did not trust that they were strong enough should Dukat – and he would never put it past him – order his execution.  
  
Garak shuddered. No, all things considered, this was the best decision to have made at the time. But that didn’t change the fact that they were now stuck in the Gamma Quadrant.  
  
He jumped as his door chimed.  
  
“Come in,” he said with as normal a voice as he could muster.  
  
“Hello, Garak,” said Julian Bashir, walking in, “I was wondering if you –” He stopped short as he looked at Garak more closely. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Of course I am,” said Garak, and he could tell by the endearingly exasperated look on Bashir’s face that the doctor had once again failed to register his sarcasm.  
  
“No, you’re not,” said Bashir and walked briskly towards him, taking his wrist in one hand and feeling his forehead with the other. His touch lingered longer than Garak knew was necessary. Humans – always so keen on skin-to-skin contact.  
  
“You should lie down,” said the Human in question, and Garak rolled his eyes. “I am fine, Doctor. I’m not thrilled to be stuck here, but neither is anyone else, and I don’t see anyone else lying d –” He broke off as darkness began to cloud his peripheral vision. Not good.  
  
“Doctor’s orders,” said Bashir almost cheerfully and led him over to the sofa. Oh, how embarrassing.  
  
As he lay on the sofa, the darkness slowly receding, he heard the doctor’s voice as though from far away, even though he knew Bashir had sat down in the armchair next to him. “You could do yourself a favour by not being so bloody proud.”  
  
“I believe the phrase is ‘Look who’s talking’,” Garak retorted, and was rewarded with a chuckle. “Speaking of which, I see you’re talking to your friends again.”  
  
Bashir was silent for a moment. “I wasn’t aware I hadn’t been.”  
  
“Forgive my presumption, doctor, but I was under the impression that ever since your genetic background had been revealed, you were a little distant with everyone.”  
  
“Funny. I got the feeling _they_ were. Anyway, since when were you watching my every move?”  
  
Garak wasn’t sure – he still had his eyes closed – but the doctor sounded rather pleased. That, in turn, pleased him.  
  
“I’m not, I assure you. I merely observed that you turned down Chief O’Brien’s invitations repeatedly and did not talk to Lieutenant Dax as often as you used to.”  
  
There was another pause. Finally, Bashir said, “I guess I’ve been a little unsure of how to behave around them. And I can tell they don’t know what to think of me, sometimes. At least _you_ tell me when you’re annoyed with me, Vulcan and all.”  
  
Garak sat up slowly to look at the other man. Even though the doctor had sounded like he didn’t care about those things Garak had said to him earlier, his eyes told a different story. It was funny – ever since Garak had found out about Bashir’s genetic enhancements, he found him much easier to read.  
  
“And you prefer that, do you?” he asked, smiling.  
  
Bashir studied him for a moment, then smiled, too. “Well, at least I always know where I stand with you.”  
  
Garak smiled widened. “Oh, _believe_ me, Doctor, you don’t know half of it.”  
  
There it was again – that strange look Bashir gave him every now and then and that Garak, in spite of his mostly successful recategorization of the other man’s expressions, hadn’t yet managed to place.  
  



	5. Part I: You Are Cordially Invited...

_**You are Cordially Invited…**_  
  
“So how was the wedding?”  
  
Julian didn’t respond for a moment, too busy wolfing down his stew. He’d eaten a square meal late last night, after the week-long fast had finally ended, and still he felt ravenous.  
  
“All right,” he said, finally, looking up at Garak.  
  
“A bit of a… trying week for you, I gather.” Garak sounded just a little bit gleeful, and Julian glared at him.  
  
“The Chief and I took out much of our frustration last night on Worf,” he shrugged. “That helped.”  
  
“Ah yes, the _Ma’Stakas_ ,” Garak nodded. “One might even wonder whether the ritual was not designed expressly to build up so much frustration that the final beating would really be worthy of a true Klingon.”  
  
Bashir smiled and nodded his approval, his mouth full.  
  
“I must confess myself surprised at you,” Garak said. “How did you not know what _Kal’Hyah_ , or the ‘one-week Klingon bachelor party’ as you so enthusiastically called it beforehand, really entailed? Or if you didn’t know, why didn’t you look it up? I’d have thought you’d want to be prepared, especially when it comes to Klingons.”  
  
Bashir shrugged, feeling a little sheepish. “I like to be surprised sometimes.”  
  
Garak nodded slowly, giving him that new look, that combination of shrewd calculation and grudging admiration that did something funny to Julian. “Knowing what I know about you now, that can’t happen very often.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t mean to say that I’m always bored,” Julian said, quickly. He wasn’t about to add complaining about his lot in life to all his other sins. He wasn’t a religious man, but he had a general sense that going down that path would entail some sort of retribution from the universe. “ _You_ for one certainly keep me on my toes.”  
  
The smile Garak gave him looked like he hadn’t used it for a while, and Julian reminded himself that it had only been a couple of weeks since Ziyal had died.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asked.  
  
Garak, getting his meaning at once, looked down at his meal. “I’m all right.”  
  
Julian had already expressed his condolences, of course. Garak had waved them aside with the air of a man who didn’t feel that he deserved them. Julian had wondered, and still did, how much of that was show and to what extent Garak genuinely felt that he had no business accepting condolences for this loss. He knew his friend had never been entirely comfortable with Ziyal’s affection for him; he didn’t know, however, whether they had ever actually been together or not.  
  
And now was probably not a good time to ask.   
  
Let alone to hope.


	6. Part 2: Two Years Later

_**\---** _

_**Part II: Two Years Later** _

_**\---** _

  
  
_“If that’s all you have to say to me, Julian, maybe we’d better face the fact that we’re not meant to be.”_  
  
Julian stared out at the stars streaking by his window. Relief. That was what he’d felt when she’d ended it. And she had noticed it, too: she wasn’t stupid, and she had more than 300 years’ worth of experience.  
  
He’d felt guilty, afterwards, because part of him felt that he’d been leading her on. Still, he _had_ thought, for a while, that it was the real thing. That she was the one to finally take the place in his heart that had so long been occupied by someone else.  
  
“Orbiting in ten minutes,” announced the ship’s captain.  
  
After they’d finished arguing, they’d talked it all out more calmly. She was a psychotherapist, after all, and even though he’d found it very difficult, he knew that she needed this.  
  
One thing she’d said then still resonated with him. _“I think you have some unfinished business in your past, and as your ex-counselor, Julian, I would advise you to take care of it.”_  
  
She’d probably been referring to his ex-fiancée Palis, Julian thought as he looked out the window at Cardassia Prime.  
  
Finding Garak was easy enough, once he’d arrived on the surface. A quick search on one of their terminals, and he found out that his old friend was working (in some capacity or other) at the government headquarters. Probably in charge of surveillance, he thought, smiling to himself.  
  
So now he only had to make up his mind what to say to him.  
  
He had come without a plan – or rather, as his brain would have it, with twenty-one different scenarios, fifteen of which ended either in disaster or disappointment. A 28.6% chance of success, then. But if the war had taught him anything, it was not to trust the odds.  
  
His heart beat faster and faster as he walked from the transporter platform towards the government headquarters. He didn’t bother tempering his heartbeat; it was good (if strange) to feel so alive in the midst of death, still clearly visible on every corner of the Cardassian capital.  
  
It had been three months since the war. Enough time to bury their dead and to reestablish a basic infrastructure in order to bring help to those who needed it. Julian saw many aid workers around him, of many different races, some in uniform, some in civilian clothing. For a moment, he pictured himself joining them.  
  
Three months hadn’t been enough, however, to clear away all the signs of destruction. The city still looked like it had very recently seen battle; the debris had been roughly shifted out of the way of the roads, but it was still there.  
  
Julian imagined what it must be like living here, crossing these streets and being reminded of all they had lost every single day. They might not always consciously see it – from what he knew about Cardassian brains, they were even more efficient than Human ones at blocking out unnecessary information –, but he was sure they still felt it at every moment.  
  
He stopped in front of a particularly large ruin, frowning. What right had he to come here and burden Garak, who was probably just functioning on a day-to-day basis, with his own feelings and even expect him to return them?  
  
For a while, he stood there, staring at the rubble. Then, he mentally shook himself. No. He’d always found a reason, all those years, to hesitate, to not make his intentions known. He had to declare himself once and for all, never mind the circumstances, so that he could finally move on.  
  
~~~  
  
If Garak was surprised to see his Human friend again so soon after they had parted, it was nothing to the surprise he felt at his own emotional reaction.  
  
 _I must be under more stress than I thought_ , he mused as he battled the impulse to rest his forehead against Bashir’s, as was customary only for family or people with a romantic attachment.  
  
“I am more delighted to see you than I can express,” he allowed himself instead, and was gratified to see Bashir smile warmly at him.  
  
As they exchanged a few words, Garak studied the doctor. There was something in his demeanour that was off. He narrowed his eyes, trying to activate some of the old interrogator’s senses. They were quite rusty, but they were telling him that Doctor Bashir seemed to be wanting to discuss something important.  
  
But they could not do so here. Garak now shared an office with four other people (it was annoying at times, but handy for the purposes of coordination, and he did prefer this large open space to some of the tiny cells he’d seen in this building).  
  
“It would perhaps be best if we met later this evening,” he said finally, apologetically pointing at his screen and the inordinate amount of untreated requests it showed.  
  
Bashir nodded. “Of course. Just tell me when and where to meet you and I’ll be there.” He looked around. “Is there anything I can do meanwhile?”  
  
Garak hesitated. His colleagues (well: subordinates, but still) were already eyeing Bashir with thinly veiled hostility; it had been a bit of a stretch admitting the Human into the centre of Headquarters in the first place.  
  
“You are of course under no obligation to help,” he said, and forestalling Bashir’s protest, held up his hand. “However, if you wish to, you could check in with the central coordinator of Starfleet aid. You will find her at this address.” He showed Bashir the itinerary on his screen, knowing the doctor would retain it.  
  
Bashir nodded, and after they had fixed a time and Garak had given the doctor his address, left.  
  
Garak sat back down at his desk, wondering why his heart was beating so ridiculously fast.  
  
When he arrived home that night, he found Bashir already waiting for him in front of his house, or actually Mila’s house, as he still privately called it.  
  
“You live here?” Bashir asked, as Garak led the way through the hole in the wall towards the rear sitting room, which was mostly intact.  
  
“It’s more than most other people have for a home,” Garak said simply.  
  
“I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m sorry,” said Bashir. “It’s just – makes you see the luxuries we take for granted in a different light, that’s all.”  
  
“If you are calling living on Deep Space Nine a luxury…” Garak gave him a meaningful look, and Bashir laughed. “At least it’s warm here.”  
  
“True.” Bashir placed the enormous bag he’d brought with him on the table. “Here, I thought you might need this. Or if you don’t, you’ll probably find someone else who does.”  
  
It was a power generator. Garak thanked the doctor, who he knew must have either laid down some latinum or called in some favours to get this, and together they connected the generator to the replicator which had survived the attack but hadn’t had any power to run on since.  
  
Together, Garak on a wooden bench and Bashir on his only chair, they enjoyed the first warm meal Garak had had in at least a week.  
  
“Now, my dear Doctor,” said Garak. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
Bashir studied him for a moment, and Garak could tell he was simultaneously preparing what to say and examining the effects of the war on his friend. Garak wasn’t sure he liked the compassion he saw in his eyes.  
  
After a moment, Bashir said, “I just wanted to see how you were.”  
  
It was the doctor’s best innocent smile. Garak leaned back, staring at him, and after a moment, starting laughing low under his breath.  
  
“Don’t get this the wrong way, Doctor, but sometimes I wish I’d had the chance to interrogate you back in the day. You’d have been quite a challenge.”  
  
Bashir shook his head slowly. “I don’t really see how to get that the _right_ way.”  
  
“Never mind. You were saying?”  
  
“I wasn’t, actually.”  
  
“Ah yes. Let me rephrase that. You were _not_ saying?”  
  
Bashir grinned. Garak smiled. He _had_ missed this.  
  
After a moment’s silence, during which they intermittently stared at their food and at each other, Garak asked, “How’s Ezri?”  
  
“She’s fine, I think.”  
  
“An intriguingly vague reply.”  
  
Bashir smiled a little. “We broke up.”  
  
Garak tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “I’d say I was sorry to hear it, but you don’t look too upset.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
~~~  
  
 _All right_ , thought Julian. _It’s now or never._  
  
“She said I had some unfinished business in my past, and she was right. So… here I am.”  
  
Garak stared at him, his hand frozen mid-way to his mouth.  
  
Julian thought that he might for once have found the perfect balance between subtlety and directness.  
  
Garak slowly put down his fork. His eyes followed it and stayed there for a moment. Then, he looked up again, and the expression in his eyes was like nothing Julian had ever seen before.  
  
“You are aware,” Garak began. His voice sounded husky, and he cleared his throat. “You are aware of the fact, I assume, that according to Cardassian etiquette you just made me an unambiguous offer.”  
  
“I was hoping that would be the case, yes,” said Julian, trying to sound much more confident than he felt. Garak was still staring at him, and _God_ , it was frustrating, because Julian still had no idea whether he had a chance or not.  
  
Enough. He’d been waiting for the right moment to tell Garak about his feelings for six years, and it had never come.  
  
He got up and sat next to Garak on the bench. The Cardassian didn’t shy away, he noticed; but he didn’t really turn to him, either. Julian covered his hand, lying on the table next to his plate, with his own and turned it around, stroking each of Garak’s fingers. He could hear Garak swallowing audibly. Finally, the Cardassian looked at him, and there was such vulnerability in his eyes that Julian, abandoning all conscious thought, pulled Garak towards him with his free hand and kissed him, slowly, tentatively.  
  
Garak didn’t respond, but he didn’t draw back, either.  
  
After a moment which, even to a genetically engineered mind, felt like an age, Julian broke the kiss and drew back. Garak stared at him, and as Julian tried not to blink, feeling like Garak was probing right into his soul, he suddenly became aware that Garak had interlaced their fingers.  
  
“You are many things,” Garak said finally, still studying him, “but you are not cruel. I would assume you mean this, then.”  
  
“Of course I mean it,” said Julian, a little exasperatedly. “You think I’d come all this way just for an adventure?”  
  
Garak frowned. “I don’t know what to think anymore, doctor.”  
  
“Well then, don’t,” murmured Julian, slowly stroking Garak’s cheek. “I find it works wonders for me.”  
  
They kissed again, much more enthusiastically, and Julian sent a silent thank you to whatever power there was in the universe, and a screw-you to the odds, as he pulled Garak upwards and pushed him onto the table in one swift motion.  
  


**THE END**


End file.
